


The Sun Will Rise And At Last I See The Light

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo, Tangled (2010)
Genre: Frying Pans, M/M, Oh My God, What Have I Done, What Was I Thinking?, and grantaire is flynn rider aka eugene fitzherbert, enjolras in purple, just oh my god again, movie lines, nothing good, plus enjolras in blonde, so enjolras in rapunzel, this happened because someone said flynn and grantaire dressed alike and yeah they do kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-27
Updated: 2013-08-27
Packaged: 2017-12-24 19:09:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/943599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is Rapunzel and Grantaire stumbles into his tower while looking for a quick franc to buy his next drink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sun Will Rise And At Last I See The Light

                Grantaire awoke with a pounding headache which was particularly _unheard_ of, but he honestly didn’t remember drinking that much.

                Then again, maybe that was part of the reason why his head felt like it was full of little gremlins trying to carve their way out with their sharp little claws.

                He groaned as a bright light shone in his face, squinted hard. After a moment, he realized that he couldn’t move. He was strapped down. Tied? Tied down. Arms and feet bound to…a chair?

                Slowly a face came into focus, a face that made Grantaire sure he was dreaming or hallucinating or _something_ , because a face that beautiful couldn’t actually exist in nature…could it? “Who are you?” he spit with some difficulty, his head feeling like it’d been stomped on by all the king’s horses and a good portion of his men, too.

                The beautiful blonde man tucked an errant curl behind his ear, his eyebrows twitching into a frown momentarily. The muscles in his lithe arms rippled beneath the puffy purple sleeves of his jacket as he raised a frying pan in his obviously deft hands. “Who are _you?_ And more importantly, what are you doing here?”

                Grantaire wracked his fuzzy brain. What _was_ he doing? “ _Dieu_ , I need a drink.” Then it hit him. “Money. I needed some money for a drink and I…found my way here.”

                “Who _are_ you?” the blonde angel repeated tersely.

                He grinned as cockily as his headache would allow, “Grantaire. But you can call me R.” He looked up at the blonde through his lashes, a move that always, _always_ made people cave. Hell, he knew he was good looking, despite his nose, which had been broken once than once and poorly set at least once. “Who’re you, _mon petit ange blond_?”

                The angel frowned—how was a _frown_ even attractive on this man?—and slowly lowered the cast iron cooking utensil. “En…Enjolras.”

                “Enjolras,” he repeated, rolling the name in his mouth like a piece of hard candy, tasting it.

                “R. I’m…I’m sorry I hit you.” Grantaire frowned. “With the frying pan,” the blonde— _Enjolras_ —elaborated.

                “Oh, so _that’s_ why my head feels like it’s about to split like a rotten pumpkin.”

                “I’m sorry,” he repeated, looking down to his bare feet. “I was just…scared. And, the thing is…I’m not scared anymore.” With quick fingers, he untied the ropes holding Grantaire to the heavy wooden chair. “You know what I mean?”

                He reached up a hand and gently cupped one side of the blonde angel’s face. “I’m starting to.”

**Author's Note:**

> oh my god, I don't even know.


End file.
